


We'll Leave Things Folded, Neat and Tidy (Day Seven-  The Journal)

by providentialeyes



Series: Morston Week 2020 [7]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hope, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Tenderness, betrayin the gang eyes emoji, post guarma pre-train nonsense, tentative confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: He draws a house, then two, then three.Sketching in loose and half-hearted details.A fence, some apple trees.Dogs, horses, cattle, chickens, sheep.“What…?” John asks, hushed, leaning up against Arthur’s shoulder.“Couple houses, animals,” Arthur says, “Back west.”“Oh, so nowyouwanna be a shepherd?”“Hush,” Charles says mildly from Arthur’s other side.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, John Marston/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, John Marston/Charles Smith
Series: Morston Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874179
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	We'll Leave Things Folded, Neat and Tidy (Day Seven-  The Journal)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Ghosting by Mother Mother](https://open.spotify.com/track/6405hOm4Nxfxzm2wxXw2BU?si=OKot0TJRSbqmtvT0pFwE3w)  
> happy last day!!! thank you so much any and everyone who participated(even if you just liked/kudosed/reblogged stuff!) and thank you munchy for all of this <333

John has always known three things about Arthur. 

One, Arthur doesn’t like being surprised.

Two, it’s not easy to surprise him.

Three, _unless_ he’s sleepy, tipsy, or otherwise distracted. 

And Arthur happens to be a combination of all three at the moment. 

The older man is sitting with Charles at the fire. 

“What a mess,” John says and sits down roughly, his leg still tight, the scar tissue pink and fresh. 

Arthur twitches in surprise then mumbles, slurring ever so slightly. 

“You mean you?”

“Meant everythin’,” John huffs and awkwardly uses his good leg to kick at Arthur’s. 

“You doing alright, John?” Charles asks from Arthur’s other side and John hesitates. 

Swallows, looks over at Abigail and Jack and all the ladies. 

Sadie, sitting close to Abi, talking in hushed tones. 

“Fine,” John says and drops Arthur’s journal in the older man’s lap, “You left this in my tent.”

“What?” Arthur frowns and picks up his journal, squinting at it. 

John glances at Charles, then Arthur, then the fire. 

“Nice drawin’,” John mutters, “Made me look _real_ pathetic.”

“Just drawin’ what I saw,” Arthur frowns at the journal, “You looked?”

“It was open.”

“You never show anyone,” Charles says quietly, ever-so-slightly teasing, “At least it was just John.”

“Hey,” John protests tiredly. 

“No… You’re right,” Arthur says softly, “S’fine.”

A silence goes between the three of them and John and Charles look at each other over Arthur’s head. 

“… Alright,” John says slowly. 

Both younger men watch as Arthur opens the journal and flips through it to the most recent page. 

The drawing of John, fallin’ asleep sitting up on his cot while he and Arthur had been talking, amicable for the first time in a long time. 

“See,” John says to Charles, gesturing at the drawing of himself, “Look what he did to me.”

“It just looks like you.”

John huffs and slides onto the ground next to Arthur with a grimace, leaning over the older man to point at part of the page in the journal.

“Were you cryin’?” John mutters, “Why’s it all smudged here?”

“I was-” Arthur makes an indignant sound then seems to realize something and covers one side of the spread, “… Did you read it?”

“No,” John says softly. 

“Why?” Charles asks from the other side.

“Shouldn’t’ve looked in it to begin with,” Arthur grumbles and flips to a new spread. 

“I didn’t, Morgan,” John mutters and leans back on the log, frowning down at his lap. 

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur mutters back, feels Charles’ leg nudge his other side lightly. 

When he looks up Charles nods his head towards John lightly and Arthur, even buzzed, notices the doom about the younger man. 

“How’s your…?” Arthur gestures at the entirety of the younger man, “You were mumblin’ last night ‘bout it hurtin’.”

“S’fine.”

“John, you eat?” Charles asks as he gets up to prod at the fire, adding another log. 

“Yeah… Thanks.”

“Be right back,” Charles says as he’s already walking away from them. 

Arthur and John share a small look of confusion as Arthur fiddles with the open journal. 

“Were you?” John asks quietly, hushed, “Cryin’?”

“No, wasn’t _cryin’,”_ Arthur rolls his eyes, “Jesus, Marston, are you thick?”

“I’m just ask-”

“No you ain’t, you’re pickin’ at me. You think I’d cry over you?”

“… Or whatever you were writin’.”

“So, you did look.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how would you-”

“Arthur, I’m just _guessin_ ’ since you won’t show-”

“Here,” Charles says, drops a pencil into Arthur’s lap on the journal as the other men look up in surprise. 

“Oh… Thanks?”

“You didn’t have one, but your fingers were twitching,” Charles lowers himself to sit on Arthur’s other side, holding over a pack of smokes as well, “Now you have the option.”

Arthur murmurs another thank you, more sincere, and sighs down at the page. 

John lights each of them up and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Maybe you should continue from last night,” Charles says lightly. 

“You read it?”

“You didn’t cover it that quickly.”

“ _Charles_.”

John snorts from Arthur’s other side. 

“Fine, now you both know,” Arthur says thickly, “Don’t go n’ blab about it.”

“ _I_ didn’t read it,” John says tiredly, losing patience, “I saw my face, realized what it was and _closed_ it. You beat that into me ‘nough as a kid.”

“Didn’t _beat_ you,” Arthur mutters, squints at the younger man suspiciously, then turns to look at Charles. 

“Was a good idea,” Charles says quietly, “You should continue it.”

Arthur frowns, and frowns, and wrinkles his nose and chews at his cheek before huffing in frustration and shoving the journal down, stretching his legs out to give it a stable surface. 

He draws a house, then two, then three. 

Sketching in loose and half-hearted details. 

A fence, some apple trees. 

Dogs, horses, cattle, chickens, sheep. 

“What…?” John asks, hushed, leaning up against Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Couple houses, animals,” Arthur says, “Back west.”

“Oh, so now _you_ wanna be a shepherd?” 

“Hush,” Charles says mildly from Arthur’s other side. 

“No… No, it’s-” Arthur sighs, glances up, sketches out a box under each home, “It’s fine.”

Arthur puts Abigail in the first house, Jack. 

Glances at John and sucks his teeth. 

Sadie. 

Moves to the next house. 

Feels both younger men lean in, huddle closer. 

Tilly. Mary-beth.

A moment of hesitation, Karen. 

Moves to the next house, adds himself. 

Charles. 

John. 

Hesitates again. 

John swallows thickly, looks around as inconspicuously as possible. 

“What about Javier?” John whispers. 

“Don’t know.”

“Is this…” Charles nudges his knee against Arthur’s, “How would we?”

Arthur closes the journal roughly and grips it tightly, surprising the younger men. 

“How’s a huntin’ trip sound?”

\--

“I’m just glad to be on ground again,” Arthur says slowly, then coughs sharply, catches both Charles and John glancing at him. 

He waves them off, gestures forward. 

“We oughta make camp somewhere 'round here, all kinda turns to rock and mud further on.”

\--

“Three houses?”

“Or more? Or less?” Arthur makes a helpless gesture at the journal, “Ain’t in stone.”

“Javier…” Charles says quietly. 

“He’s real loyal,” John says, just as quiet. 

“I’d still like to try, just… Maybe last.”

“Karen, as well,” John mutters, “If you can catch her sober.”

“Yeah,” Arthur mutters, “Trelawny’s off, Strauss, Pearson’s been lookin’ to leave as well.”

“What ‘bout, Miss Grimshaw?” John asks, and his voice is small, smoother and younger, “I…”

“She’d kill for Dutch,” Arthur says slowly, “Molly…”

“Don’t,” John says quietly.

“I don’t think we should,” Charles says lightly, “If we do… Move with this, I don’t think we should tell her.”

“Maybe,” Arthur says thickly then adds her to the small list on the side of maybes. 

“Hell, Arthur,” John says shakily, staring down at the page, “You laid us all bare here, huh?”

“Sorry,” Arthur mutters. 

“No… I-” John clears his throat roughly, looks up at Charles, “I know it ain’t been long for you, sorry.”

“Why?”

“That all this… Everythin’ just up and blew to bits,” John says slowly, thickly, “Over a decade for me and for Arthur…”

“Yeah,” Charles says quietly, “It’s… I don’t expect this to be easy for you two.”

“Nothin’s easy,” Arthur murmurs, reaches over and tentatively squeezes Charles’ arms, “Thank you.”

“What?”

 _“Thank you,”_ Arthur says firmly, “You’re a good man, Charles, thank you for… For joinin’, for stayin’, even through all of this.”

Charles looks like he wants to rebuke the gratitude, frowning lightly, but Arthur squeezes his arm again, and he slowly takes up the older man’s hand, squeezing it in return. 

“Wagon?” John says quietly into the heavy silence and the other men pull apart. 

“Just horses would be faster.”

“For all of us?” Arthur muses, “Or pairin’ off.”

“Should we all go… Where _are_ we goin’?” John asks slowly. 

“ _Are_ we going?” Charles asks, just as slowly, seriously. 

“Think so,” Arthur taps his pencil on the paper nervously.

“Don’t know if we have much time left to be thinking and not deciding,” John whispers.

Arthur’s quiet for a long moment. 

“West, yeah?” Charles asks, straightens his legs and leans back on the log, looking up at the dark sky. 

Not a star in sight. 

“Where else?” Arthur mutters.

“No, but where west?” Charles clarifies.

“Just… Far ‘nough.”

“Buyin’ land, and livestock, and lumber… With what money, Art?” John whispers and lightly bumps his shoulder against the older man’s, “What d’you know?”

“Dutch’s… The money,” Arthur says slowly, “The camp money… Abigail’s onto it.”

“The key?” Charles asks quietly.

“Mmhm.”

“So this is… There’s a chance,” Charles says, looks over at the other men.

“Plenty of a chance,” Arthur says, “It’s just about doin’ it right, and at the right time.”

“Sooner… Than later,” John murmurs. 

“… Sadie?” Charles asks slowly, like he isn’t sure he wants to bring it up.

“Mm,” John sighs, “I don’t know. She’s… Abigail’s happy.”

“Gentlemen’s house,” Arthur jokes, tapping the house with their names. 

“Who you callin’ a gentleman?” John laughs hoarsely, “Yourself?”

“I was just sayin’-”

“Boys,” Charles interjects quickly, “Really?”

“Ain’t you the gentleman among us, Charles?” Arthur drawls heavily, thickening his accent.

“Think that’s so, Mr. Smith,” John teases and Charles rolls his eyes, “Most stately and handsome of us, at least.”

A hush falls over the three of them at the sincerity in John’s tone. 

“… I ain’t wrong,” John mutters defensively and rubs at the ache in his bad leg. 

“Thanks,” Charles says dryly. 

Arthur makes a low noise of consideration, tilting his head in thought as he looks down at his journal.

“He _ain’t_ wrong,” Arthur says.

“… Thanks,” Charles says again, brows furrowed as he looks between Arthur and John, who are both avoiding his gaze. 

His chest feels a bit too warm and he looks down at the journal as well. 

“We should sign on it,” Charles whispers. 

Arthur snorts but offers his journal to Charles with the pencil. 

Charles doesn’t take the journal, lets Arthur keep hold on it as he signs his initials at the bottom corner. 

Arthur blinks at him when he’s done, like he expected Charles to be joking. 

“… Alright,” Arthur says hoarsely, turns and holds the journal out to John, “Johnny?”

John hesitates for longer, staring at the fire, then looking at Arthur, at Charles, at the journal. 

He signs his initials next to Charles’.

Arthur takes a moment, after he pulls the journal back into his own lap. 

Looking at the younger men’s initials. 

The first marks in the journal not his own. 

He signs his initials on top of the other two. 

Boxes the three of them in with the silhouette of a _home_. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter](https://www.twitter.com/gwennolmarie)  
> Munchy is hosting the Morston Week here's more info  
> [Morston Week Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorstonWeek)  
> [Morston Week Tumblr](https://morstonweek.tumblr.com/)  
> And here's [the collection!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MorstonWeek2020)


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